Cursed Hours
by revanmeetra87
Summary: This is just a short story for the CSSB, volume 2; a 'deleted scene' from Episode 3x18. I chose this episode because it has it all: Flirting, angst, and romantic tension! The story takes place after they try to get in contact with the deceased Cora, but before the scene in Granny's where Emma poofs away Killian's hook.


She had walked away from him.

Of course, that was what Emma Swan did. Her feet were constantly taking her away from him, no matter what her heart told her, and he had no bloody idea what to do about it.

Killian was fully aware that it had nothing to do with disliking him. He could console himself with that, at the very least. For every cold shoulder and sarcastic comment he received from her, there was a longing glance thrown his way when she believed he couldn't see her, or a tentative hint that she desired his presence; such as her invitation to join her family for dinner the other evening.

However, that knowledge didn't spare him from hurting each time she hurried away, like he was a nightmare she couldn't quite shake.

Her latest rejection of him had played out directly after the failed attempt to speak with the deceased Cora. Killian had tried to escort Emma down the stairs with a hand at her back, and she'd thrown a half-anxious glance over her shoulder that automatically dissuaded him from further contact.

He should have rejoiced that she kept pushing him away. His lips were cursed, and he had become a liability to both her and her family. But he was an incredibly selfish man, and he could not find any kind of relief in her continuing dismissals.

How laughable it seemed to him now that he once thought the worst obstacle facing his love for Emma Swan was her stubbornness. This curse was a thousand times worse.

He would have to live the rest of his existence never kissing her again, never letting his mouth brush hers with passion or sweetness or love or the thousand things he wanted (and, admittedly, imagined). That would be his penance for his foolishness, while Emma would continue to shine like the savior she was, eventually forgetting their dalliance in Neverland.

Never would he take her power. He'd rather die than do so. What concerned him was Henry. The witch was not bluffing with her threats against the lad, he was certain of that.

Something had to give, and it would give soon.

But Killian had no idea what to do.

Best to keep his distance from Emma in the meantime. Which, if she had any say in the matter, shouldn't be too difficult.

Entering his rented room at Granny's inn, Killian lie on the bed and took the circular piece of rigging he'd kept from his ship from his pocket, turning it over and over, and trying not to sigh.

* * *

"You find something?" Emma asked as Belle hopped off her stepladder with an armload of books.

"Maybe," said Belle, shuffling to the library counter and dropping the stack of volumes with a thud. Her eyes had deep shadows underneath them, attesting to all the days she'd spent worrying about her captive, enslaved boyfriend. "These were catalogued wrong, so I missed them the first time. They're all part of a series on rare spells and curses. It's going to take a long time to search them all. I really love books, but sometimes I wish they had a search function at times like this. Like a computer."

Emma let her hand rest on her hip, nodding understandingly. "I get it. But you won't be doing this alone, Belle. Henry is with Marco today, so I can help."

"Right, uhh…Here, take this one." Pulling a book from the center of the pile and toppling the stack, Belle handed Emma the thinnest of the heavy tomes. Emma wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or relived, but before she could decide, Belle was speaking again.

"Now, just to warn you, this series was written with language and dialects from hundreds of years ago. So, some of it may be confusing." Stooping, she began gathering the fallen volumes, and Emma crouched to help her. "If you're not sure about a word or phrase, text me. It's Enchanted Forest writing, so you won't be able to Google it, like you would with Shakespeare. Okay?"

"Got it," Emma confirmed, but already a possibility was entering her mind. _Hundreds of years, huh?_

She had no desire to analyze why it was _Hook_ who came to mind first.

It was a logical and legitimate reason to go find him, right?

Nothing more to it.

* * *

Killian was dozing when somebody knocked on the door of his room. He had half a mind to roll over and ignore it, but when he heard Emma's voice through the barrier, his feet hit the floor of their own accord and brought him to her, opening the door.

"There you are, Hook. I tried calling the hotel phone." She brushed past him and into the room without invitation, and his eyes couldn't help but track the glimmer of her hair as she moved.

"Is that what that bloody alarm bell was?"

She whirled around, and he suddenly noticed the object in her arms: an old manuscript, bound in worn, lovely leather and trimmed a deep purple. "I was hoping you could help me with something," she ventured.

He should have sent her away, but already knew he wouldn't. Still partially asleep, he stuttered, "Aye, love, name it." He would do anything for her, even if she didn't yet realize it.

If she did suspect the depth of his feelings, would she have come in the first place? Thus far, most of his attempts to offer his services had been met with derision, cold sarcasm, or point-blank rejection.

And yet…

Emma was here, in his very room, she'd chosen _him_ and not her parents or Regina for assistance with her problem and that meant-

That had to count for something, surely?

The only thing that gave him hope was that she'd entrusted him with the one she treasured most in the world, her son.

He loved her so much.

His mouth was cursed. _"You need to leave, love."_

Her lips were so close _. "I need you to stay, love."_

Both phrases jumbled and intertwined in his thoughts, and before he could express either, Emma had seated herself on his bed, opening her book. "I'd like you to read through this with me. It's a book on magic. Belle thinks we might find the spell that Zelena's hoping to use in here."

The sight of her relaxing on the bed, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, like she belonged in his space and his life (or he in hers), was enough to rend his heart to scrap.

Emma must have read something in his eyes, because the next thing he knew, an impassive expression crossed her face, as though she was drawing a veil behind which to hide. She abruptly stood and moved to the armchair in the corner of the room.

"So, come on. Let's look through it."

* * *

What exactly had possessed her to seek out Hook?

The phrase _Playing With Fire_ came to mind, but-

She no longer believed he meant to burn her, and that simple truth was driving her crazy.

He drew a chair from the tiny desk by the wall and seated himself beside her; close, but not as close as she would have expected.

Digging her palms into the corners of the boom to keep from squirming, Emma covered her unexpected frustration by scowling. "Hook. This book has itty bitty squiggly writing. You're like three feet away from me. How do you expect to see anything?"

She had opened herself to about a hundred or so of his stupid innuendos, deliberately, to see if he was avoiding her as studiously as she imagined he was.

"I suppose we can take turns reading it," he suggested blandly.

Well, that answered that question.

Was he sulking about the way she'd brushed him off at Regina's mansion? He hadn't let that kind of thing discourage him in the past; in fact, she suspected that short of her flat out telling him (lying to him) she didn't want him around, even realms couldn't keep him away. And they hadn't.

But maybe…

Maybe he'd finally had enough. Maybe he was tired of the struggle. Even with an invitation, he hadn't come to Granny's with them.

Yet, his touch on her back when leaving Regina's, the way his fingertips brushed gently up the center of her back had to mean –

She didn't even freaking know.

Flushed and angry at the dueling emotions within her, Emma snapped, "Just come closer. We don't have all night to be fighting over a book."

"As you wish, Swan," he told her, sliding his chair nearer with a scrape.

Trying to ignore the way he was leaning over her, how if she just turned her head a little, her nose would bump the stubble on his cheek, Emma flipped back to the first page of the book.

"I can't believe this is hand-written," she said, knowing they had to concentrate but unable to focus with the heat from his body so near.

"Aye, love, this volume looks to be quite the relic. I see many idioms and definitions I've not heard for centuries."

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to tell me what they mean, because I have no idea what 'Ogre's breath' is supposed to be."

"It's an onion."

"Come again?"

"It's what they called onions long ago. Or at least, some referred to them that way. Old wives' remedies and so on."

"Why not just call it an onion? Who wants to eat 'Ogre's Breath'?"

"I don't bloody know, Emma. Why not stick to one word when referring to those bubbly sugary drinks Granny serves? I've heard soda, pop, cola, soft drink-"

"You made your point. Let's just keep reading. I don't think the Wicked Witch's spell has anything to do with onions."

"Very well," he said in a clipped voice.

Sighing, Emma turned her head to the window. Hook had left it slightly ajar, and cold air was seeping into the room.

Over the past week or so she had wondered, once this was all over and she and Henry were back in New York, if Hook would be bold enough to ask to come with them. She had been contemplating what she would do if he did.

Between time spent worrying about the Wicked Witch and fighting numerous, losing battles, she had alternated between preparing a speech to let Hook down gently, and wondering if her fledgling powers would somehow let her conjure enough money for him to lease an apartment near hers in the city.

Now she was wondering if she was just plain presumptuous. Ever since he'd helped Ariel find Eric, he'd acted like being around Emma was a chore.

"Turn the page please, love?"

Absently, Emma did as he asked, realizing she hadn't read anything at all on the first page, other than the part about the lousy onion. "After we stop Zelena, what do you plan to do with yourself?"

"Not sure I've thought that far ahead, I'm afraid."

A lie. It wouldn't have taken her superpower to hear it in his voice.

"Not much call for pirating on the coast of Maine," she said carefully. "Unless you're planning to go back to the Enchanted Forest."

He didn't answer for a long time, and she risked a glance sideways. His long lashes were lowered, concentration completely on the book, evading her statement with all he had.

Then, Emma felt like a jerk. Of _course_ he had no way back home; why had she felt the need to point that out? And the only reason he was here was for _her_.

Whatever else was going on with him, he'd made no secret about that.

There was a very good chance he would never be able to return to his realm, and it was because he had saved her.

Suddenly needing to see his ridiculous, cheeky smile, she closed the book and stood.

"Swan, what are you doing? Shouldn't we be studying that?"

"I want to go for a walk."

"Now? We've only read one page."

Which, Emma reflected guiltily, was one more than she had. "I can't concentrate."

"Very well, then, Swan. Go ahead, I'll continue with the book."

He held out his hand for the volume, and Emma surprised herself by taking the bejeweled fingers in her own hand.

"Come on," she said gruffly, hauling him to his feet and releasing his hand quickly. "Just a little bit of fresh air, and we'll get back to it. What do you say?"

* * *

She was trying to torture him. There was no other explanation for the way Emma had treated him since dragging him from that bare, cold hotel room and out into the frosty twilight.

All smiles, she kept close to his side, while every once in a while the side of her hip brushed his as they moved. She kept a steady conversation, avoiding the topic of their foe or mission and seeking his opinions on the mundane, such as the mattresses at Granny's, and snorting with amusement when he'd quip a reply.

Despite the weather, Emma had then led them to the ice cream shop and procured them cones, the blonde proprietor sneaking them extra scoops while she smiled warmly at Emma.

Now, chill wind at their backs, Killian followed Emma to the docks, where she took a seat on a bench. He perched on the same bench, but far enough away that three people could have fit between them, and worked on his frozen treat.

Lost in his thoughts of how he'd become a danger to Swan and her family, and how he could go about fixing it, he didn't notice Emma shoot him a frustrated, concerned look.

Therefore, when she scooted down the bench to sit beside him, it took him quite by surprise.

"I'm a little cold," she said by way of explanation.

"Perhaps the ice cream wasn't the wisest choice, then," he suggested. Oh, if not for the blasted curse, he'd have wound his arm around her and tucked her against his side, held her cold hands in his hand-Why did she have to pick now of all times to begin to open up to him?

"You really think we have a chance against Zelena?" Emma asked between bites of her cone. "I mean, Regina couldn't beat her one-on-one, and she's got Golds power at her disposal, too…"

"If anyone can, it's you, Swan," he said, with perfect sincerity. His firm belief was that no matter the Wicked Witches plans or abilities, they paled in comparison to what Emma was capable of.

Unless of course, her power was taken from her, like Zelena wanted.

No, it would not happen. Could not happen.

"Thanks for that. But I can't use my magic unless I know what I'm doing, and it's coming so slowly." She shivered, leaning closer to him, and confessed, "I know that back at Regina's house, I said I was ready, but that was a lie. And I feel like everyone knows it. I guess I did manage to save myself at Regina's bridge, but haven't been able to do much since."

"A bridge?"

"I'll tell you the story later. The point is, I can't control it."

Control. Ha. The problem seemed very obvious to him. She couldn't very well set about honing or managing a power she didn't even want to be around, let alone accept about herself. "Do you suppose," he said carefully, "some part of you is resisting it?" As in, the part of her that wanted nothing to do with Storybrooke or what she perceived as fairy tales?

She glared, and momentarily Killian feared he'd incurred her anger.

Gods help him, he didn't want her to hate him.

But then, she softened. "I guess it's possible. Don't you ever wish your life was more…normal?"

"Define 'normal', Swan. Because for me, this land, with its technology and noises and strange _everything_ , is far from normal. Yet I returned, because there was something important to me in this realm. Something that I tried to live without the past year, and found I couldn't."

Her eyes rounded, filled with fear and wonder and just a flicker of hope, and recklessly he went on.

"So yes, I endure the difficulties and the peculiarities, because finding what I was looking for was more than worth it."

He fully expected her to get up and march off then, leaving him alone by the bitterly cold ocean, but she continued to stare at him, as if some realization was waking up inside her. He didn't think she had ever looked at him for this long, and it made his heart trip and his stomach flutter, like a young lad's.

Emma's next comment was completely unexpected. "Did you…did you like New York?"

Killian had no desire to insult her ideal lifestyle, but he wouldn't lie, no matter why she was asking. "Not particularly, love. There are so many people, and everything moves so fast."

His answer seems to sadden her. "I reckon you're just a small-town boy at heart," she teased, eyes now glinting with something he couldn't identify. Resignation, maybe, or understanding. Even the progression of the evening darkness couldn't hide it.

Little did she know that, if he held anything to heart, it was her.

To keep himself from kissing that pouty smile on her face, he had to angle himself away from her, no matter how much it confused her.

No matter how much it hurt her.

"Well, I'm freezing," Emma said. "I have an idea. Let's take the book to Granny's. We can get cocoa to warm up. I'll practice my magic, and you can look through the book. What do you say?"

"Won't she have closed the diner for the night?"

"Well, maybe; but she'd probably let us hang out in there, anyway."

While more time alone with Emma, freely spent, sounded nothing short of divine, Killian knew that magic would come with a bitter price. He wouldn't risk her power or family more than he already had. He would have to devote his attention to studying the book, and ignore her the best he could.

Mind made up, he nodded. "Aye, Swan. Lead the way."


End file.
